Missy On a Bender
by Chrissy Renee Pinto
Summary: Missy Bender from The Benders is back and she is out for revenge.This is her story. If you would like a perspective from the mind of a sociopathtic 16 year-old then, this is it! Please review.
1. Chapter 1

**Whomever reads this story please think of a review, otherwise I will conclude that nobody cares for Missy Bender, the sad little girl of the hell family. Remember, the episode The benders. Please is one review so much to ask. I think missy deserves something. If you don't review the author gets the impression that her work is faulty hence easily overlooked. **

"My dad used to sing to me every night, at least until mother went to bed and then-" The young woman breaks off, chocking back a sob that sounds brittle, shaky in her throat. Her chest convulses, trembling sobs wrack her frame. The rest of the room is chasm of silence with only her sounds to fill the void. There is a flicker of sympathy on the psychiatrist's face, her voice is gently firm, yet silently empathetic. "Now Dana, continue with your story, I guarantee you will feel much better after you are done."

One of the other patients snorts contemptuously but she is politely ignored. 'Patronizing bitch!' The patient thought to herself, angry thoughts buzzing in her head. '_As daddy would say 'she is so full of crap that she would give a methane farm a run for its money! She is so full of psychobabble that she belongs in here with us; in a white coat and so high on meds you're a damn eagle._'

The meds-how she hates the meds. Thinking of them tetchily. The little pills that left you in their mercy to mould into the kind of person they decided on .

"Missy! Would you like to go next?" The lady turned on her expectantly; a small coaxing smile on her lips. A complacent grin rises on the harsh-edged brunette's face in response. Her gaze swept across the room, noting the blank, indolent expressions that were etched into the sunken pallor of their faces. A few of them look at her with watery gazes, but the few others, who have undoubtedly been rewarded for their actions that morning, eyes are vacant and bodies pliant in the seat.

Leaning against the chair, she allowed the supposed-enlightened words to leave her conniving tongue, "Friends, You all know of my suffering and I suspect all of you have been hurt by those you trusted! But I realize now that it wasn't my fault.." The lies that spew from her lips echo with a falsetto note of sincerity that causes her stomach to churn. The speech was rehearsed, the flatness carefully buried under wanton feelings. She whimpers at the right time, hugs herself and repeats certain choice phrases over again until her stomach lurches with the scorn she feels for them, her captives.

Let them think they had hammered her into a belief, abandoning the very essence of her family. "My daddy didn't love me..he was abusing me and it wasn't my fault!" She repeats tearfully, injecting truth and emotion, a huge contrast to her personality, while her lips quiver. The crux of the exercise is so she connects with her humanity, lets it drain like sewage water into her veins, bringing a tidal wave of guilt and regret, burying her under it. but such a state would not befall Missy Bender-Nope-Daddy raised her right.

She tells them what they want to hear not what she knows in her heart is true. The truth is a solace she keeps locked in a small corner of her beating heart, next to the rage restrained in chains. Her daddy and her brothers loved her in the only way they knew how. She finishes off her performance; a trite plastic smile hangs limply while sweat clings to her ashen skin. Subdued applause serves as an encouragement because loud noises upset the other residents.

Inwardly, her body erupts with wicked mirth and malicious glee. The small tear drop that slides down her cheek like delicate pearl cinches it. They are convinced of her change of heart. Sparing a peek at Dr Keller, the group therapist is watching her with a small grin that fills her eyes with professional happiness and vain satisfaction. Obviously she is pleased that she has managed to reach one of the more difficult patients. Missy's own lips arc to mimic hers, some pathetic attempt at female solidarity, but in all honesty the Doc could take all her theories and shove it up or down her farting hole… whichever one she chooses.

Missy throws herself onto the bed and stares at the white ceiling, waiting until the hot ball of excitement nestling in her stomach trickles away. Nevertheless, staring at the ceiling is hardly a favourite pass time at the institution. It is so bland as compared to her old place of residence. The old house, with its ancient woodworks and furniture. The musty scent of blood and age taints the atmosphere but it was comforting to her. The smell itself held memories of many a glorious night after a successful hunt. The hospital, with its synthetic, insipid taste and lifeless, bare character actually threaten to drive her mad, more insane if it was possible.

Her house. Her home. Was an entirely new experience. The house was a fortress, secluded from the petty rules and obligations of man, no one could touch her or her family. The time used to be whiled away sorting out shapes designed by the sunlight filtering through the blemished glass, tracing animals, people and monsters amongst the shadows. She had envisaged them in little stories until the sun descended in the horizon, the red streaks creeping across the derelict floorboards as the room was slowly blanketed in darkness.

Thought she enjoyed the game, her love for the hunt, an inherent quality, compelled her to spend the humid nights with her Dad and brothers to lone afternoons in isolation. Her dad was reluctant in the beginning, her being a girl and hunting was strictly a manly sport. There were occasions when she considered that he was disappointed and disproved of her; it was a source of misery while the desperation to prove herself clawed at her insides.

Luckily, her brothers in due course of time were swayed to her way of thinking. "There is no way in hell, our sister is growing up to be some perty, sissy princess in a tower, that only happens in fairy tales..' Lee's gruff voice, thickened by a vicious drawl was retracted from a barely retrievable, fading memory.

Missy's eyes slide from the ceiling to the floor where a square shadow lay, narrowing as a result of the weakening of sunlight of late afternoon falling on the glass, from the only window in the room. Just thinking about her Dad and brothers leaves her heavy with sadness and longing, thin hot needles stab her heart. 'They loved me..i don't care what that bitch says ..they loved me !' It had become her dictum since being committed to Minnesota state mental asylum, the 'supposed' stabilizing factor to her insanity. Sheilding agaisnt the loud, crass, persuasive and repetitive screeches in the hospital, rebutting what they forced on her, she didn't belong here. Sitting up she pushes herself off the bed and flattens against the floor. The chill seeps into her pores, detached and prickly. Drawing in a deep breath, she began to do push- ups, her focus on the paleness of the wall opposite her as her breathing is regulated. The exercise is to ensure that her body is kept agile and fit.

In due time, the door slids open with an alerting ding and Missy looks up to two immaculate pair of pants ending in shiny shoes. Tucking a strand behind her ear, she stands up and asks perkily, curves of her cheeks widening." Hello doctor! Is it time for my meds already!" Her eyes shining brightly but diluting in lucidity.

He returned her smile genially but his eyes tell a different tale, the lewdness glimmering at the corners. "Yes, Missy! It time for me to give you that TLC you require!" They share a chuckle together, saturated in the counterfeit trust that strings their connection. "I'm grateful to you doctor !" She said throatily as she lay on the bed, slightly spreading her legs "I bet even Florence Nightingale wasn't as dedicated as you!" It is not too hard to play this role. Her skin crawls under the shameless, lascivious stare the middle-aged man could dare to inflict on a girl, who could as well be his daughter. It wasn't as bad. Before she became as adept, she used to bite her nails into sharp points and then scrap into her skin, desperate for relief.

A pleased smirk tilts the corner of his lips, countenance darkened by the vulgar glitter in his eyes. "I do enjoy my work, Missy! But sometimes it gets too stressful and I need to unwind." The words oily in phony sentiment, gently cajole with prurient intent. You understand don't you! I 'm only doing this so I can continue to treat my patients with the special attention that they require and you're being tremendously helpful in easing my burdens..so to speak." The smile is stretched across her face like the smile of a clown, painted and pretend.

"When you arrived, you were this brain washed, tortured little girl. But now under my scrutiny, you've grown so much." His fingers tug on the hem of her gown, not really seeking an invitation but out of habit. Habits were at the forefront of the human psyche, any psychologist will tell you that. Then they slowly began to climb forward, testing the warmth and succulence of the surface. Gradually her eyes dull to an almost plated sheen of russet. "You're growing up Missy!" "Yes, Doctor Petrelli?" She agrees, her gaze is fixed on him, dwindling emotion from her eyes draining into the emptiness inside her.

She watched as his boyish features twist into another person she knew intimately, whose specialty was clandestine explorations. Fingers return to lightly stroke the hem of her hospital gown, teasing the skin, burning her but she doesn't display the utter despise that wrings her body taut. A thin flash of violence flickers in her eyes but he is drowning in his urges and everything else matters little. "Didn't your wife get breast work done?" The comment slips from her lips with a hint of a smile, stalling the hand working up her thigh. "Where did you hear that?" He clears his throat, flinching, noting with uncertainty the strange look that suddenly drapes her features. "The nurse's gossip!"

Catching on the hint of fear, she adds with a ghostly smile "Nothing about us!"

His face slackens until only the delighted smirk is prominent, "Bunch of busy bodies, we shouldn't care about them! We have each other." His whisper against her ear, is scorching hot and needy; his hand continues its travel. Briefly, his eyes meet her shinning brown orbs, before claiming her bruised lips. He caresses her mouth, a keening sound fluttering in his throat. Her eyes stare straight ahead, pin pricks of murder evident, almost swallowed by the nothingness that swivels in her eyes.

**After three reviews, will post the next one!**


	2. Chapter 2

"So that was my first experience with men. I learned from the Doctor that they were nothing but greedy, perverse swine and the best way to get one over on them is to feed them pussy. Enjoying the bedtime story, Sweetie pie! I am sharing my life story here." "Its 4 pm, Bitch!" Dean grunts, giving her the full brunt of his stare sizzling with heated menace. "Yes, I'm able to tell time! But I wasn't referring to that kind of good night sleep." She levels him with a cold glare, lowering herself to his level, eyes boring into his electrified green irises. "You know you should have killed me when you had the chance." The comment is blasé and almost contemplative. Her head propped on a bruised knuckle is patterned with blood, dirt and tattered bandages. "You're right! Maybe I'll get a chance to amend that mistake!" Dean says matching her vicious nonchalance. A chilling smile sweeps across her face after a girlish chuckle leaves her lips, "What makes you think I'll give you the chance? You know it is your fault! I mean you acted like you've never seen a full blossomed woman before." Clicking her tongue, she stands up and begins to brush off her jeans, exuding a devil may care attitude.

Dean immediately tenses, observing the jeans are already coated with a heavy layer of brown grime and her cleaning isn't helping it. From the corner of her eyes, she notices his obvious caginess and a sly smile tilts the corner of her lips. "You know Dean!" When she speaks his name, it is like a bittersweet chocolate in her mouth. "All those months in the hospital, you're all I thought about. Kind of like my first crush!" Giving the words enough of a wicked resonance to build into something ominous and sinister.

A cocky smile graces his boyish good looks, "I'm flattered not to mention disturbed. Royally freaked out but you ain't my type!"

A mock pout plays on her lips, "Oh, and here I thought we could play husband and wife, have little tea parties!" "Nope sorry! Maybe you should go back to Dr Petrelli, he liked to play naughty nurse." The quip falls from his lips and stings her like acid. Dean is not normally so insensitive but the murderous intent that paints her features coarse has him concentrating more on life. Her eyes contract to shinning slits and an ugly scowl surfaces. But then she smiles, disturbingly pleased, "Your brother was a much better playmate!" In reaction, his calm demeanor evaporates and frenzied anger takes hold of him, eyes widen and brim with blatant panic and ferocity. "Where's Sam? If you've done anything to him!"

She turns her back firmly on him, walks to the closet and swings it open with a resounding creak. Reaching inside she gives a firm yank, causing the body to tumble onto the floor with a snap of floorboards and a mist of dust. "No NO!" an anguished wail bursts from Dean's throat, as tears spring to his eyes, "SAMMY!" With the toe of her shoe she nudges Sam's head upward so his throat is visible, flaunting the rutted slit across his jugular. Blood had flowed from the wound, swathed his neck, coloring his faded plaid shirt a thick maroon. His handsome youthful face is sunken in a pallid landscape mottled in lacerations and bruises. "I'M GOING TO KILL YOU, BITCH!" A savage guttural bellow practically shakes the derelict wooded boards that made up the framework of their feeble, abandoned cottage.

"Only, for torturing and murdering your brother! I expected much worse from your reputation-as a deadly demon hunter!" She leans against the far wall, arms dangling beside her body, the swinging light overhead illuminating the derisive look in her eyes backed by unwavering composure.

Dean perceives her through a haze of tears and fury, breathing in quick, hungry gasps but they don't ease the tightening in his chest or the blood pounding in his ears. '_Sammy,oh Sammmy! I'm sorry I couldn't protect you_!'

"I wonder if Sam died while we were having our fun conversation or before I bought you in!" Her forehead furrows in concentration, "Cause honest to God I can't remember when I finally ended his annoying existence!" The languid, casual tone renews the fury in the hunter's veins like molten lava, dispelling the urge to break into deafening, vengeful sobs.

"You're going to go much slower I'm promising you that!" Passion and mourning makes his voice tremor yet the determined resolution is raw and piercing.

Her eyes narrow, displaying morbid pleasure at his agony and when she speaks, rancor and acrimony is leaden in her tone, "Now you know how it feels Dean! The wait before you are finally told by a demeaning cop that your father is dead and your brothers have been executed by the state, too little too late to say goodbye!" Her eyes burned with a fervor that matched the hunter's, hell spewing from their eyes. "After you locked me in that closet I never got to catch one glimpse of my family after that, No, it was psychiatrists, police officers and more psychiatrists!" Her story tumbles out of her mouth, thick and weathered in residual grief. They were her family, her only family and they were taken away from her in the cruelest fashion-and for what- doing what they did best. Maybe if they had enlisted in the army it would have been considered legal to hunt human beings.

She saunters across the room; her gaze locked on Dean's hardened face where fragile cracks are visible but he is no way completely beaten. Not when the ardency for revenge beat in his veins and throbbed in his chest.

"Well, at least you got one last look at your brother!" A warped, amused giggle escapes her lips as her foot casually swings to connect with the crumpled heap on the floor. "I didn't kill your family, Bitch!" He spits out venomously, teeth tightly clenched that she can hear the scrape of molars. "No, you just allowed the Bitch officer you were with to do your dirty work! But don't worry she got what was coming to her!" making an eloquent gesture to an imaginary audience. The sudden onslaught of light-headedness turns her thoughts into a swarm of angry buzzing and dilutes the tension that keeps her body and defenses tightly coiled. It may be the metallic scent of blood, pungent in her nose or it may be the depletion of the vast reserves of energy on her murderous spree for revenge. There is also the possibility that her body is reacting to the absence of her daily medication. Or…She tosses her head backwards and a vapid, emotionless laugh edged in insanity and cruelty is dredged from the tunnel of her throat. Maybe she is just so gleefully jubilant that every waking moment plotting her revenge has come to such glorious fruition. One brother skewered and another awaits, oh father, I proudly wear your mantle and cape..

**Please read and review, I put in a lot of work and would like some appreciation. So please. Reviewwww! Thank you!**


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